Three Years
by TheLurkingShadowWillow
Summary: AU— After three years of a challenging friendship, Garfield plans on asking his dear friend Raven for her love. And while waiting for her to arrive at his apartment, he begins to remember all of his memories with her. Rated T for language and referrences.
1. Three Years 1

**_Three Years_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or any real things I mention.**

**—••••••—**

**Key:**

**FBS— ****Flashback Sequence**

**CUR: Current Time**

**—••••••—**

**–CUR–****  
**

_**8/16/06 Wednesday**_

The grandfather clock chimed and notified the time of night. I paused in my steps and stared at the swaying pendulum inside the square container. It was already seven o'clock and I had already began to sweat. I continued to pace back and forth in my living room as I waited. My eyebrows slanted in a focused expression and it was then that I started to actually worry. I knitted my hand through my hair and scratched my scalp. I kept assuring myself that she will eventually come knocking at my door. That eventually, she will be here with me, talking to me, and sarcastically insulting me with small comebacks.

I loved those little witty attacks, even if they were meant to discourage me or put me down. I still enjoyed them, I still enjoyed her. The insults might have been all her, but she was still the most awesome person I ever came to know. She might have acted, looked, and spoke of dark things but she was more than that. I know that. I can see that. She was always alone and to herself but I knew she still wanted attention as much as me. I knew that she wanted friends. And now that I knew more about her, it was easy to tell that she wanted to feel happy, to experience given care, and to_ be_ someone's love interest. She was lovelorn and I, _out of all_ other possible people, wanted to change that.

She only deserved such, considering the things she had to go through in her life. Her still young life. While only at the age of twenty-one, she had went through things not even some elders had heard of. She had the most difficult baggage I have ever seen in someone. It was only a matter of time before someone would show her something more than that. Someone to show her that there _were_ _better_ people, _better_ feelings, _better_ intentions that existed. Definitely not the type of style she grew up with. And I only wished and wished for that person to be _me_. And hopefully, _only_ me.

I smiled, beginning to remember back to all the times she had talked to me about herself. When she would consult me with her past. Some were secrets, some were events, and some were confessions that she had carried with her through a decade or so. Maybe even more than that. All that I knew about her now was given to me through countless of times of me begging. I wanted to know more about her so I kept pestering her about it, resulting in her either giving in or beating me up, and then either telling me or keeping quiet. I liked it when she actually told me. Whenever she told me the truth about a moment in her childhood I would squint my eyes at her, a silent question if she was lying— she never did like being accused of lying out loud for some reason. Like the several times I caught her in the process of sharing something and she was not being truthful. She was only covering up the real thing just so I wouldn't get the chance to know her. I opposed that. And even though she knew that I could and would catch her, she still does it, hoping I would not detect the falsity. And to this day, after maybe three years or so, I still do not know the reason.

But what I _do_ like about her is that everything that she is now has a reason. For instance, her appearance has a reason and cause behind it. Her way of speech has a tale to it, a little story from her childhood. Her _personality_ was even altered, having a reason about why it's as cold and dusty and dark as it is. And most of those reasons were of her own will— tempted by yet another cause —or by an event or person influencing or altering her by force. There was never anything about her that was made or present by her own desire and want. So if she had lived a different life than she had, she would have turned out differently. I probably would not have fallen for her, I would probably not have to deal with her insults, and I would probably not even know her. So even though she hated her previous life, and I do too, I am also glad that she had such a hard twenty-one years. If not for that, then I probably would not be where I am today with her. And where am I? In love with her while being her friend.

Not that I'm complaining. She is the most beautiful person I have in my life. Beautiful on the inside and the outside. It was practically next to, damn near to impossible to _not_ fall for her. Even if she was the total opposite, the totally darker shade of me, I still had these feelings. And the best part? I learn something from her every day. And sometimes, I learn something about myself along the way. She was the complete opposite, but made me realize my self by being just that. She was just that amazing.

I peered at the big grandfather clock once again and saw that it was fifteen minutes passed seven. I was shocked by that. So stunned that I paused in my pacing and sat down on the soft couch, eyes broad. Never, in the three years of knowing her, had she been late to any of our scheduled meetings or outings. She was always as punctual as a clock. What was wrong this time? Had something happened to delay her? Was she kidnapped, beaten in an alleyway, choked by men, or worse? Sidetracked by another man who was her lover? Did she even have a boyfriend? Were they rolling in her sheets _right_ now? But that was not possible. She was not known to be submissive to anyone. And I think the title 'boyfriend' went under that category. She would never get distracted by something as petty as sexual desire. Right? I sure damn hope so.

"Raven. Where are you?"

I was expecting an answer. Like in those corny romance novels when the girl is mourning and then _Fabio_ comes in on a horse, shirtless, and kisses her. Or when the timing is perfect: the girl is about to consider it over when the guy appears on her doorstep, resulting in a messy bed and torn clothes. But real life was not ever like that. People may accept other's offers of a relationship now and then, but there were never coincidences. That was another thing Raven taught me. I valued that lesson ever since I learned it. I listed it under the other things she has told me. I just never thought that it would apply to anything concerning her.

This time I wanted a coincidence. I wanted an occurrence that happens in a remarkable way, by chance. Right now. I wanted her to come walking through the door and kick it closed with her heel, like she always did. For her to collapse on her preferred armchair right by the door, hands smothered in her sweater's pockets, and slightly out of breath. I never knew why though. And then I would sit in my usual place on the carpet, leaning on the couch behind me, and turn the television on. She would watch with me for a small while before picking up a little black satchel and taking out a thick book. There would be a different book each week, the latest one thicker and older than the last. I would bring some snacks from the small kitchen, for her and me— a bag of _Tostitos_ for me and a _Lipton_ iced tea for her. She hardly ever asked for food, just her tea. Which was why I have a quarter of a shelf in my pantry labeled for cans of that stuff. I sometimes had some for myself, and then she would notice, just by looking into a container. Then I would just watch a show about celebrity gossiping, and her actually paying attention at times. She would snort at some absurd news, sarcastically _reply to the host, and simply talk to herself. Saying, 'How seriously retarded some people were on this planet. Who even raised them? And **why exactly **__did they have sex with a prostitute?_'. I would only laugh and make jokes about some weird statements. But obviously I was not as funny as I thought I was. She had said so herself.

I exhaled happily, remembering once again what _routine_ meant to me. Routine was hanging out with Raven in my small apartment, right after my shift at the comic book store and hers at the small book store next to mine, and spending the time we had until ten on the usual things. TV, books, snacks, and broken conversations. It has been that way for two years or so already. And it has not been different any other day, any other week, or in any other year. I intend to keep it that way for as long as whatever big force allows me to. Whether it be me or her or the neighbor next door that for some reason decides to bomb the place, it was going to stay the same way. That is, if I actually ask her out. Either way if she says yes or no the outcome would still affect our friendship. Hell, it would probably destroy _me_. I knew how she felt about emotions, let alone boyfriends. Even if I knew better than that, she still acted on her fake feelings. Like the time when I told her to smile and she took it as serious as to glare and not talk to me for at least four days, even if she so badly wanted to do so. She was just way too traumatized from her past life to do so. And I respected that, at times.

Then I began to remember something. A special little memory in the center of my mind where I intend it to be. It was superior in comparison to other clips of past events still in my head. For this one was the one when and where I met her. When I met Raven, the distinct jewel. And while I held other meetings with my other true friends in my head as well, my meeting with her was more than just bliss. Well … _now_ it is. Before, while sitting through the memory for the first time, I was natural. I was calm and uncaring as to what should and could happen. I was just sitting by the counter, chin held by hand as I glanced over at every corner I could see from my position, visualizing only what I could not see. I was unaware, unconcerned, oblivious to any kind of girl right in front of my work building, right across the street. Not even one of my thoughts were on the female gender. My brain was as dead as road kill. I only first noticed her when she strolled by the large windows of the front entrance. She was calm, like me but without as much boredom, and stopped, jogging down to the book store with her hands in her pockets. I had not even noticed that book store before then and I've worked across it for three months almost. I had to walk right by it do the same thing she had done, only the opposite way, and different workplace.

I smiled to myself again. Those were good times. Almost as good as the times we had now. Only, we did not have each other back then. So this year was as good as ever, way more than before. I began to think about that day again. About how it went, what I felt, what she had said, what I had said, and what my boss had said. He had caught me several minutes after my lunch break had ended, outside the book store, peering through the windows trying to look for the girl I had seen and meeting her. Luckily I did not get fired. I would have missed out on a lot.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: One–**_**  
**

_**8/16/03 Saturday**_

I was peering into the building through the large windows, hoping that no one would see me. More importantly, I was hoping _she_ would not be able to see me. My hands cupped around my eyes and pressed against the glass, trying to see without the light's reflections. But that still was not enough because not only was the sun an obstacle, but so were the bookcases right in front of the windows with books displayed. And to add to that, the check-out desk was nowhere near where I was standing. Meaning? I would not be able to see her.

I sighed.

This was going to be another mission impossible for me. The first one was trying to swallow my lunch whole without gagging and such so that when I'm done stalking, I won't complain about starvation afterwards. And the next was sneaking out from my workplace undetected— since it was preferred that employees eat inside the workplace, but not mandatory. With my coworkers being my usual lunch group, coming up with an excuse to leave was difficult since they practically had the psychic powers only existing in comic books. But I managed. Saying that I had to buy a few things from a store a few blocks away. That was the worst excuse ever, but they bought it. What dumb-asses. I could probably get away with murder if they were judges and juries. I think that was how court proceedings worked.

I backed away from the window and shoved my hands into my pockets, exhaled. It was going to be impossible for me to see her unless I go in personally, not in my mind. I sighed again and began my way to the double doors. What was I going to say? Was I even going to talk to her, or see her? Maybe if I just wander into the section she's in and just browse the books. And maybe she'd ask me if I needed help. Then, if it goes well, we'd have a nice conversation. That sounded nice. But what if she's at the cashier? Do I ask her for a library card? Wait, this was a book store! Not a library. This was going to be more complicated than I thought.

With a deep breath I pushed open the doors and entered, smelling the odor of paper and aging carpets. My nose unconsciously scrunched up and I tried to hold myself from running back and walking into a perfume shop. It smelled that bad in here. But I didn't expect anything else— it was my first time at a bookstore that didn't have any graphic books. And nothing in here was of my interest. There were probably books in here from the eighteenth century!

Wait, when was that again?

I shook my head from that thought. I then wandered further into the building and looked over some bookcases, book stacks, book tables, and books and more books. All that was around me was books. Back at the comic book store, there might have hung-up comics in baskets and comics in boxes and comics in stacks, but there were also action figures and collectables, role-playing costumes, and toys, and accessories, and household accessories, and even appliances. It was like a _Rooms-to-Go,_ a_ Sears, _and a _Target _all in one. But this place didn't have any of that. All there really was were books, books, books. Not even maybe some bookmarks on a cart, or some reading lights. Nothing but old, worn, dusty books.

I came to an isle and stopped, seeing something colorful. My eyes widened and I hurriedly chased after it, coming to a halt at a shelf. Right above my head, too far for me to reach by inches, was a journal— hopefully blank. But this journal was different. It had a certain design on it. It was of a superhero. One of my favorite superheroes that I've read and bought all the comic books about. I have maybe a _gazillion_ posters of him. And there was just one thing amiss in my collection: a blank journal. And this was it. This was the most special day for me. I could tell already that I was led here on purpose just to find this.

I licked my lips, smiled, and reached for it. I groaned when I still couldn't reach while on my toes. I snarled and jumped, but almost fell forward and lost my balance. I glanced down and found a lower shelf right above my ankles. An idea formed in my head and I was filled with hope once again. I used to do it when I was little and couldn't reach something and I always turned out fine, but I was a man now, weighing three times as much than before, and I could break the wood. Or worse, someone could catch me. That had happened to me countless of times before and it had not been fun. Man or boy, I was still embarrassed at being caught.

But I needed it. And badly.

So I placed my foot on the edge of the shelf and applied pressure, hearing a small sound of creaking wood. Cold anxiety filled my chest and I lifted myself up, hearing a louder snapping sound. Oh no. Either this thing was going to break or I was going to get caught–

A throat cleared behind me. "Need help?"

My eyes were wider than before but almost popped out of my head when I heard the final snapping sound. The wood broke and I fell backwards, landing on my butt and hands. Ouch, that hurt.

I looked up and saw a blond girl right behind me. I blushed, feeling humiliated, and looked back down. "Uh–uh, not really."

The girl laughed. "Don't be silly, dude!" She pulled me up with a strong grip and I huffed. "I'm required to help. So … ya need help gettin' that book?"

I nodded, noticing how much taller she was, compared to me.

The girl easily snatched the journal and handed it to me. "Thanks."

She looked around before sighing. "Rachel! Clean up on isle whatever!"

I looked around. "Wait, you guys don't have isle numbers here?"

"Nope, we just follow the sound of our voices. So, I haven't seen ya around here before. New here, or do you just not like books?"

"Nah, I'm more into comic books. I work at the comic book store right across the street actually. I just saw someone come inside and wanted to know who they were."

"Ah, maybe that's Rachel. She's new to the business. Just arrived minutes ago." She looked behind me and smiled. "Oh there you are! I've been here for ages. Help this guy here won't ya? While you've eaten already, I'm starved."

The girl then turned to me and smiled again. "Hope to see ya soon, dude."

"Uh, it–it's Garfield," I said while holding the journal to my chest.

I turned to whoever the blond was talking to and felt my heart drop. It was her. The girl I had seen walk by the window. And she was a better site to see up front than from a distance. Her pale skin was of a beautiful tone, even if lighter than mine. Her hair was the same color I had seen through the window— a black with a purple tint to it —and in a boyish length. It wasn't up to her shoulder or neck, but rather up at chin length. A bob. Her eyes, although far for me to see clearly, were definitely covered with contacts. They had to be. No one had purple eyes. No one that was human or normal, that is. And she was taller than me by a few inches added. That was not something that bugged me because I knew I was going to grow out more. I was only eighteen.

I drifted my gaze from her indifferent eyes and blushed when she saw the mess I had made. The shelf was still broken, a kid's journal was hugged into my chest, and I was staring at a woman as if kept under a basement my whole life. I must've looked like a total loser to her. I know I did to myself. She shook her head in disapproval and walked toward the mess. With a frown on her face, she bent down and handled the situation my stupidity caused. She picked up the two ripped pieces of wood and slid them under her arm. I presented a shy smile. She only walked away into the employee room to deposit the garbage, then back to me.

"Come to the front and I'll check it out for you," she said.

"Okay," I mumbled.

I followed her to the front desk and placed the childish journal on the counter, her grabbing it and swiping it, then hearing the computer beep. Man, did that noise bug the hell out of me.

"That'll be five dollars, sir."

"Oh yeah, got it," I said, digging into my pocket, pulling out a five. "Oh, and it's Garfield. My name's, uh, Garfield."

She looked at me like she either wanted me dead or just didn't care for what I said. "I'm required to say that. I'm not exactly supposed to be that friendly with customers."

"Oh, heh-heh, I knew that. I work right across the street," I pointed to my job, "I get told the same thing. But I said that because … I wanted to, uh, be your friend."

"Friend? I'm just a stranger taking your money and putting it in a cash register, and you want to be my friend?"

"Yup," I said.

"Are you always that friendly or are you mentally handicapped?"

I almost frowned at her. That rude comment only made me think of her as a condescending person. Not only did she insult me, but she was questioning my 'being nice' act. What the hell was wrong with this women? I choose the wrong people to know and follow.

"Yes," I said confidently. "I happen to have many friends by being _friendly_ to people. And I am not mentally handicapped, woman, but I happen to take that as an insult. That's very bad to say about mental people. They have feelings too, just many crazy ones."

"Are you done lecturing me?" She said, not caring for my words.

I almost growled. This woman was _impossible_ to deal with. Even for me.

"Look," she said. "Just take your book and leave. I don't _need_ to be talking to you."

"Actually, you do," I smiled. "It's the _rules_."

I put emphasis on the word 'rules' just to see if I could get under her skin. And it worked too. I could see a red fire in her eyes that told me that I was about to sign my death wish. I bet I was. This woman seemed like pure hell to be with, I can tell already. Who were her friends anyway? Did she even have any? How did they deal with her? Was she always like this? I wonder.

"So?"

"Tell me your name."

"My name? I'm not required to do that," she stated.

"But I want you to. The customer always get what they want, don't they? I can call that blond chick over here and tell her that you aren't telling me."

I didn't like that I was practically threatening her into giving me her name, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know.

"I can't believe this is happening," she muttered. "My … name is … Angela."

I grinned. Her eyes roamed the floors behind me and I didn't look back, keeping my eyes on her. I knew what she was doing. I've done it too many times. I'm practically an expert at it.

"You're lying."

"No I'm not."

"Yes ya are," I laughed.

She groaned, almost sounding like a growl of her own. "You're being an _extremely _annoying customer."

"Just tell me your name and I'm out of here."

"Ugh … my name is Rachel."

"You're lying again," I proclaimed easily.

She really was a bad liar.

"No I am not," she hissed.

"Okay then," I shrugged. "Bye. I'll see you later."

"You're coming back?"

"Don't sound so sad, I know you like my company."

"Sure."

"Say bye to that cutie that's on her lunch break. Seems cool."

I walked backwards towards the door and smiled at her one more time.

"Bye, _Rachel_."

She blushed and I headed out. When I got back behind the counter of my job, amazing enough, I got screamed at for being late to work. I knew I was going to be late when my lunch break was over. Thank goodness I ate before that.

I frowned and returned to my place on the counter. And then I smiled again.

"That is so not her name."

**—••••••—**

_**–CUR–****  
**_

_**8/16/06 Wednesday **_

The smile never left my face as I recalled back to the first time I saw and talked to her. It was my first time inside a bookstore, first time noticing Raven, and first time getting screamed at for being late to work. It was a good day with a layer of bad. Or, a good day mixed with a little bad. Wait, wait … a good day sprinkled with bad pepper. Never mind. I never could get expressions right.

Then another memory filled my mind. It was of the day I first had a real conversation with her. We had talked, lightly insulted, and teased each other. Even though I did more of the talking and she did more teasing and insulting. That was the day I had my first hateful thought directed at someone. It was the first time that I disliked someone because of their personality. Usually I dislike someone because of their attitude towards me or something. Only if it's unfair, of course. But this time, out of all the people I have met and encountered, this girl, this individual, triggered a disgusting thought in me. Her personality made me dislike her, in a way.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I disliked the way she said things. Maybe I disliked the way she kept insulting me and such. Or maybe I disliked the way she made herself into a hermit crab, like a recluse. I know I couldn't have hated her. She was funny, pretty, and smart. There were no flaws, to me. Sure she tried to hide her feelings, push people away, and insult people to make them hate her, but I know her more than that. I know who she truly is and what she truly wished to be. She wants to be the kind of person that doesn't have to care and stress as much as she does now. She says she doesn't want to be the girl in the shadows anymore, but the free girl. But she was tipsy that day so I don't know if she even knew what she was talking about, someone had spiked her drink that night.

And one time, at a very emotional time for the both of us, she had said that she wanted to be someone like me. I found that hard to believe since she practically despises me. She's said it a thousand times at least.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: Two–**_**  
**

_**8/18/03 Monday**_

"Hey, _Rachel_," I called to her.

I approached the back of the store, where I broke the shelf days ago, and saw her jump. She turned around and I could see her trying not to glare. And instead, she looked disgusted at my presence.

"Mister Garfield."

I raise a brow. "Mister? This isn't the 1800s, Rachel."

She raised an eyebrow this time. "1800s? People still say that today."

"Whatever," I waved it off. "So, need my help with anything? I have strong arms. But you've _obviously_ noticed that already."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need your help."

"Okay fine."

I noticed that she was dusting her hands off and looked around, as if making sure she was finished with whatever she was doing. Then, she looked at me, with those purple eyes that freaked me out for some reason, as if expecting me to say something.

"What?" I asked, getting uncomfortable.

"Aren't you going to leave already?"

"Ya have to ask?"

She sighed. "I'm going to lunch so you'll have to leave."

I smiled and grabbed my sandwich in a plastic bag and laughed at her exhausted look.

"I'm not supposed to have lunch with customers," she tried.

"I'm not a customer. I'm your friend that works across the street."

"Friend?"

"Yeah. Aren't we– hey! Where are ya goin'?"

Rachel slinked passed by me and was now heading out the bookstore entrance. I jogged after her and she walked faster.

"Hey! Why'd ya leave? I was talking to you."

"Which is exactly _why _I left."

"You're cold, girl," I hissed, joking with her.

"Finally noticed?"

I clicked my tongue. "So where are we going?"

"We? _I'm _going to _Starbucks_. As if I need to tell you that."

"Hmm. _Starbucks _is cool. I can get a caramel frappuccino there. Then _Starbucks _it is!"

When we got there, received our stuff, Rachel sat down at a one-seated table and looked up at me with a pretend-innocent face. I didn't even glare. I knew what she was trying to do. And getting away from me was not going to be possible today. Well, for at least thirty minutes. So I pulled up a chair to the other side of the table and smiled while taking out my sandwich. She needed to try harder if she wanted to get rid of me.

"So, _Rachel_, if that even is your name, what have you been up to?"

"I'd rather talk about the weather instead."

"Okay. It's a hundred percent chance you're not getting away from Hurricane Garfield today. So ya better start talking."

"Ugh. What do you _want_?"

"I wanna talk."

" … okay? What do you want to talk about?"

"How old are you?"

"Wow, getting straight to the personal things."

I chuckled. "Ah, yes. I will track you down and access your bank account just from knowing your age."

She growled almost. "I'm eighteen."

"Cool!" I said. "So am I!"

"Lovely," she said.

"So … what kind of things do you like? Activities, shows, stuff like that."

"I don't watch television. I read."

"That's it? Wow. Okay."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't know what a _real_ book is. Not that comic book garbage you read."

"It is not garbage!" I shouted.

"Fine. I really don't care."

I grunted and sat back down on the chair, sipping my drink.

"Got any friends?" I suddenly asked.

"No. I don't usually associate myself with people."

"Then do ya associate yourself with dust mites and lamps?" She glared and I smiled. "Sorry. What about that cute blond chick you work with. Aren't you friends with her?"

Her jaw tightened. "Tara? She's _not _my friend. I don't have any."

"Then _I'm_ going to be your friend," I said.

"Isn't that my decision to make?"

"Well that wasn't going to happen any time soon anyway. Miss Antisocial."

She growled again and I began to get annoyed by that.

"Can you stop growling? You're not a bear," I snapped.

Suddenly, Rachel stood up from her chair, picked up her things and started walking away in the direction we had come from. I jumped up as well and scooped up my frappuccino and things, jogging up to her. I chuckled and tried to stay by her side without bumping into people on the sidewalk. She just kept looking forward, face blank and uncaring, it seemed.

"Okay," I breathed. "Okay, Rachel! I'm sorry! I won't say it again."

She stopped, and I realized that we had gone all the way back to her workplace, and mine. And I noticed that I was ten minutes late, again. She turned to me and I saw a new kind of hatred on her face. One that reflected off of me as well.

"Look, _Garfield_. I don't know why you're following me, but _cut it out_," she seethed silently on the empty sidewalk. "I just want to be able to work without having these _visits_ of yours bothering me. I will tell you once, and once only, if you don't get away from me now I will issue a restraining order. Then we will see if you still want to see me."

Whoa. I didn't know she was capable of such threats. I wonder if she even meant it. I looked at her with surprise and stayed silent. When she nodded her goodbye and headed inside the bookstore, I felt a bubble of anger in me. I scowled and walked across the street and into the comic book store where I work. How dare she threaten me like that? I ought to put a restraining order on her for … for … wait, what's a restraining order? Doesn't it have something to do with keeping a stalker away from someone. I should have payed more attention in civics class.

I shook my head. She was bluffing, I said to myself. Tomorrow, let's see if she really means what she said.

**—••••••—**

'_**Story dedicated to 'Tsuki Neni'.'**_

**Good day, readers! Ah yes, another story. A bit different from my other ones. Like the rating. I like it. Do you? I hope. And yes Raven's hair is not to her shoulders, but to her chin. As in, it's shorter. And this is Beast Boy's point of view now. My first time using 'first person' point of view. Any questions ask me. Well, that'll be all.**


	2. Three Years 2

_**Three Years 2**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or any real things I mention.**

**—••••••—**

**Key:**

**FBS— ****Flashback Sequence**

**CUR: Current Time**

**—••••••—**

**–CUR–****  
**

_**8/16/06 Wednesday**_

Then I thought of all the little things about Raven. It was the smallest of details that makes me think about her for a whole hour or more. Physical appearance details, personality details, her preferences, and the little actions she does. Like how there are small indents on the top-sides of her ears, something that was there from the days in her childhood. The cuts on her ears were now smooth, me having touched them a couple of times. I first noticed these unusual features when I was rubbing my thumb on her ears. They're so soft.

Another thing she would do was a little action that made me smile and tease her each time she did it. Whenever we bought, found, or received candy, she would take all the blues and eat them, giving the others to me. And if there weren't any blues, she would take the reds. If any time I had a quarter or two, I'd stop by a gumball machine and keep putting in quarters until I got a blue, or until I ran out of quarters. Or when I'd have _Tropical Skittles_ she would take the bag from me and dump it in a bowl, distributing the candies by color. She'd have the blues and reds and I'd have the rest. When I asked why she did that she'd say that no matter what candy she ate, every blue or red-colored piece tasted the best. I disagree every time. The greens taste the best.

I looked at the grandfather clock and noted the time. Thirty minutes after seven. She was taking a long time. My anxiety started to dwindle as I realized that she wasn't coming at all. I tried to dismiss my sorrow by thinking about Raven and who she was more.

One personality detail that I notice about her is her defensive ways. The way she has a giant attitude inside that petite body of hers. It's endearing and aggravating at the same time. I tried asking her why she acted in such a way at times, but most of the time she ignored me. At the few times, she responded with a rejection. But just recently, I've actually gotten an answer to my constant question. She said that it is something she picked up from her childhood. She said that when she was small, no one would take her seriously and would tease her about her height. So she defended herself by being blunt and … rude, if that's the right word. I replied saying that it didn't make sense, and for the first time ever, she didn't reply with a sarcastic insult. She said that she was an insensible child that would do anything to be heard and it just stuck to her ever since. That was the first time she gave a reasonable answer without saying it was personal.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: Three–**_**  
**

_**8/19/03 Tuesday**_

I glare at the window as she walks, as she mumbles things to herself, as she stocks books in the order of the Dewey Decimal system, as she catches my gaze and rolls her eyes, and as she tries to avoid her blonde colleague. I softened my gaze when she wasn't in my sight or when the cute girl would see me and wave with a smile. I knew the blonde questioned why I wouldn't go in, I just couldn't tell her that I was threatened with a restraining order through the glass. That and I couldn't tell her in person because, again, _I was threatened with a restraining order_. So I was limited to glaring, waving, and smiling.

"This is ridiculous. I can just walk right in. She didn't mean what she said yesterday. You can't put a restraining order on someone who didn't do anything wrong. Right?"

I was talking to myself again. I've been doing it for the first five minutes of my lunch break. Questioning, conversing, and thinking to myself. So, deciding I wasn't going to just stand there like a creeper and drive myself crazy, I breathed in and opened one of the doors. I jumped when I heard a bell, and thought to myself that the bell was a new addition. Rachel must have put it there to know when someone came in, to know if I ever came in her precious store.

I snorted.

"Real professional, Rachel."

"Hey, G!" A voice shouted.

I jumped again and faced the blonde girl. Tara was it?

"Oh," I blushed. "Hey … Tara?"

"Yup, that's mah name," she smiled. "So what'cha doin' behind the window looking like a creepy molester?"

I blushed even more. "I'm not a molester! I actually can't be in here right now. Or ever," I chuckled.

"Why? Boss said he doesn't like you visiting the competition?"

"No, but have you seen Rachel?" I asked, trying to find her by looking around. "I just saw her in here."

"Ah," she grinned. "So that's why you're by the window all the time. You like 'er!"

"What?!" I shrieked. "No!"

"'Ey, why not? It's a good thing. Someone needs to like her around here," she mumbled.

"It's not that, I just don't really know 'er that much, ya know? So I don't like her."

"Uh-huh. Well ya just missed 'er. You an' her must not like each other 'cause she just sneaked out through the back door for her lunch break. Now I know why. She must've knew you were coming."

I sighed and hunched my shoulders, aggravated with Rachel without even talking to her.

"Ugh! Do ya know where I can find her?" I asked.

Tara nodded. "I think she usually goes to the _Starbucks _across the street. You're not the only one who wants to get on her good side."

I smiled once again at her. "Thanks, Tara! I owe ya one!"

She grinned as I backed out. "You can put in a good word for me! That'll make us even."

I gave her a thumbs up and ran off.

As I passed a few small stores and such as I ran, I began to see the _Starbucks_. Then as I got closer, I began to realize how empty the small business was. From the inside and out all I saw were empty cups on empty tables with scrunched up napkins. There was no sign indicating that it was closed so that was a bit peculiar. So when I came behind another window once again, I looked in and saw Rachel sitting on a one-sided booth with a leg over the other. A cup of tea was in her hand and she had a small smile on her face. It was my first time seeing her happy.

Then I soon noticed another figure, sweeping the floors with a broom or something. And judging by the figure's body and hair, it was a male. A guy with pale skin and light hair. A guy with a flat chest. A guy that was pretty tall. A guy with the capability to make Rachel smile! A guy that seems to be _friends with Rachel_! Out of all the people to be friends with, this guy picked her! How in the world was that possible?!

Rachel's head tipped back as she smiled even wider by just a bit, as if silently laughing. He must have said something pretty funny for her to laugh like that. And when she scanned the windows, our eyes met, and I suddenly felt cold. Her stare narrowed down to me and I felt myself ice up. What was she going to do?

My question was answered as she turned back to her friend, rather abruptly. He must've called her attention. She then nodded and put her cup on the table, standing up and walking over to the door next to me. I cursed repeatedly as I understood the definition of true fear.

Rachel was suddenly next to me, face unimpressed with a hint of anger. I smiled shyly and faced her, waving at her.

"Why are you following me?" She asked.

"I'm not following you," I defended.

"This is the second time I see you standing outside a window. And don't tell me it's a coincidence."

I remained silent.

"I was serious on that restraining order business. Either leave me alone or a lawyer will get involved."

I smiled again, but with sly. "As if. You couldn't get rid of me even if I was six feet tall."

She glared. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

I looked inside the _Starbucks _and studied the guy inside again. "So who is he? A boyfriend?"

"What? No. That's none of your business anyway. Just leave."

"Hell no! And miss out on meeting the only person that can be allowed to associate with you? As if. I wanna meet him."

Her eyes widened. "Not a chance. You'll dumb him down with your idiocy."

"Aw, come on! I just want a coffee," I smiled.

She groaned and I walked into the small building, feeling the cold grab me by the arms. I looked at the guy and got a good look at him. He was a tall, skinny, light-haired guy with really cool eyes. I wonder if they're contacts or not. I wonder if he even is human. No person could have enough patience to deal with Rachel as a friend. I can't even deal with her as a stranger. But maybe she's a different person once someone gets to know her. I wonder if this guy knows how she really is. I wonder how she really is. I wonder if I'll ever get to meet the real her. So many mysteries.

The guy looked at Rachel first before at me, faking a smile and walking to the counter. Rachel sat back down on the one-sided booth and resumed drinking her drink. After ordering and going through that whole process, I sat down in a chair in front of the peeved woman that hated me so. I stared at her blankly and she stared back, silently trying to make me uncomfortable enough to leave, no doubt. But I wasn't going to back down easily. So I put down my drink and crossed my arms.

"So how long does your lunch break last?" I asked, voice dead.

She didn't answer, only sipping a clear substance. Must be tea.

"You usually come here for lunch?"

Again, no answer.

"Do you have more friends?"

No answer. She must really be focused on getting rid of me.

"Go to school?"

No friggin' answer, once again.

"Can you answer me?!"

I was beyond angry and she raised an eyebrow at me.

"Anger issues," she mumbled, as if studying me and noting things down.

"I don't have anger issues! I'm just getting frustrated with you. I want to get to know you, be your friend, and you're not even making an effort to let me in! It's like you don't want to be friends with me!"

"That's because I don't want to. I thought you picked that up already," she said.

"I didn't because I don't want to leave you alone. I want to be your friend, Rachel! Why can't I just be that?"

I now sounded desperate and exasperated, my true feelings at the moment.

She didn't answer right away. "I don't trust you. Not enough to allow you to be a friend."

"Then what can I do to earn you trust?" I asked.

"How am I supposed to know? You just have to earn it without trying. If that's possible."

"What do you mean 'if it's possible'?"

"I know what type of person you are. I don't have the time to be acquainted with people like you."

"That is so judgmental! You don't even know me! You don't even know my last name, or eye color. How do you expect to know my personality?"

She was quiet and I knew I had gotten _something_ through to her.

"You're right, that is judgmental. But I don't want to be with someone as clingy and annoying as you."

"What?!" I exclaimed in ridicule. "You don't even know me! I'm not clingy!"

"You've been stalking me since Saturday."

"Not true. I'm just interested in you. I want to know you. I know it sounds weird but it's true."

"I've noticed that."

"Then give me a chance! Please?" I asked.

She sighed, staring at me with tired eyes. " … fine. But if I don't like you, you leave me alone."

"And how will I know that?"

"Trust me, I'd tell you," she said.

"Okay," I smiled. "Thanks, you won't regret it. I'm awesome."

"Yeah, sure."

Rachel looked away to the window and waved me off. I caught her hand, surprising her, and shook it firmly, and left before she could respond. While walking away from _Starbucks_, I saw the pale guy smile at her and she smile back. I scoffed and continued walking. I checked my watch and realized that I was going to be early getting back to work. I smiled. Today was going to be my day.

**—••••••—**

**–CUR–****  
**

_**8/16/06 Wednesday**_

That happy smile never came off that day. So many good things went down that I found it impossible to resist the urge to smile. All I thought about was how smooth it was probably going to be with Raven after that. I thought that she was going to be nicer after that moment. I was so jittery and had so many high hopes for the next day, to see her. I was happy because I was going to have a new friend. I was going to have a friend that I was going to see every weekday, not one too busy and too far.

That was not what happened, though. It went on completely different. Raven was a bit more willing to talk to me, she made less threats, she didn't tell me to go away as much, and she was very strict on what I was to know about her. I was expecting her to be more friendly and more open, but all I got was the same person, just without restraining order threats. But I wasn't as disappointed as I was supposed to be. I still got to know her a bit more than I could've before she decided to give me a chance. She told me that she didn't go to school, that she had been home schooled all her life and she knew all that she needed to know about things. I can back that up, she is a very intelligent person indeed.

What I also learned that day was that she didn't like talking about her life before turning eighteen, before being a legal adult. Every time I asked, she would shake her head and say she wasn't ready to discuss it with me yet, I was too unfamiliar with her. I think she wasn't ready herself to go through the memories again. But all she described about her childhood was that it was traumatizing and full of hostility. I took her word for it then, able to tell that she had quite the baggage from her eyes and personality.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: Four–**_**  
**

_**8/20/03 Wednesday**_

"So what is so bad about your childhood that made you traumatized?" I asked again.

Rachel sipped her drink and glanced at the people passing by. "It's what happened during those eighteen years that are painful."

"Can you tell me which memories those are?"

"No," was the answer once again.

I groaned and stared up at the sky. "Why are you being so frustrating? I just want to know you, I thought that was the deal."

"I consider my past life very personal. That's all there is to it."

"Then do you want to know anything about me? I'm an open book … on some topics. More than you, that's for sure."

"Not really. Not unless you really want to tell me," she said calmly.

"Well, I don't go to school, much like you, I've been home schooled since I was little by my … parents. I just don't want to go to college, I think it's too hard for me."

"Interesting. How are your parents now, if I may ask?"

I tensed, feeling a spot in me throb with pangs. "They're far. _Real far_."

She arched an eyebrow. "Okay, then. Sensitive topic on the first try."

"Yeah," I leaned back in my chair, smile gone. "On other matters, I don't really live in a big house. More of an apartment a few blocks away, but it's comfy. I could've bought a nice house but … I didn't want to spend my inheritan– uh, money. I might need it in an emergency one day. You'll never know what'll happen."

She squinted her eyes in the slightest, as if studying me again. "You seem to give a lot of information away, just freely."

"Yeah, I don't mind. I know who I'm talking to."

"Your words slipped, too."

I tensed again and I felt an ache in my spine. "So I did. My bad."

"Right."

My fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. "I have a bit of a stutter sometimes. I tend to trip over myself when talking fast. Everyone has it, some more than others."

"Very true, Garfield."

"My last name is Logan actually. Garfield Logan. It was my dad's surname."

"Was? You're saying it as if your father is dead." She paused and studied me again. "He is isn't he? Both of them."

I remained silent and stared aimlessly at the table with a stern gaze.

"I'm sorry for asking that," she said quickly. "It's still a sensitive topic. You have been leaving little hints and I just put it together. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. You didn't mean to touch unsafe grounds." I relaxed and closed my eyes. "Now, tell me something about your parents."

I didn't see her expression but I heard a light gasp from her, as if offended by the thought of her parents.

"My mother and father are dead."

"No they aren't," I said calmly.

"Yes they are."

"No they aren't. I'm not an idiot, Rachel. I can tell when someone is lying. They're not dead, they're dead to you."

Another surprised gasp came from her. "How would you know?"

I looked up and met her eyes. "It's like you said, you left little hints and I put two and two together. You had a traumatizing childhood, you don't want to talk about it. They must be dead to you. If they were dead you'd probably be less unhappy."

She squinted at me in the slightest. "You're intelligent when you want to be, aren't you, Mister Logan?"

"Yes," I said. "I only act dumb. With society today, people will expect less from me if they see me as stupid. At least, that's what I think."

Rachel nodded and she looked impressed. "That's somewhat true."

I smiled slyly. "So are ya gonna tell me why your parents mean nothing to you?"

"No."

I groaned and she smiled just the slightest.

**—••••••—**

**–CUR–****  
**

_**8/16/06 Wednesday**_

That was the first time she ever smiled at me, and right then did I know that she was beginning to take a liking to me. Not quite as a friend yet, but as a tolerable acquaintance. Then was when our friendship truly took a start. Well, that's what I like to believe. Then did I think I was her friend. But for her, I think she thought of me as a friend in later times.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: Five–**_**  
**

_**8/21/03 Thursday**_

_Starbucks _was once again the scenery for us, sitting on a table outside with our drinks, on our lunch break. I noticed something on our time together, something that she has been doing since I met her. She was squinting. Her eyes closing just the slightest at any time of day. It would be sunny and she would squint, which was reasonable, but then it would be cloudy and she would be looking in any direction, squinting. As if something bright was in front of her was how her eyes looked. It confused me.

So I asked her.

"Hey, Rachel? Why do ya always squint?"

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Why do your eyes always squint, and eyebrows always … come together? As if you're mad."

"It … was caused from things in my childhood."

"Can ya tell me?"

She sighed. "When I was "bad", according to my … father, I would be forced to look directly at the sun outside or at his desk lamp. That happened frequently so the habit of squinting and eyebrows furrowing stuck."

"Wow," I gasped. "That's terrible. Now I know that your dad was an asshole."

"Yes. A big one."

"So your father used to … abuse you?" I asked nervously.

She drank her tea and set it down, crossing her arms after. "Yes."

"How?"

"Verbally, mentally, and physically."

" … can ya tell me more?"

"No," she said sternly. "You know enough."

I looked down at my drink. "Okay. Fair enough." I breathed in. "Can I share something?"

She waved her fingers at me.

"I lived in Africa when I was little. With my parents. They were … some kind of scientists, I forgot the name. They were the best of parents to me. We played with the animals there, studied them, and I watched them work. I'd come along because I had nowhere else to stay." I paused. "That was where they died, in the beautiful continent Africa, right in front of me."

Rachel noticed my angered grip and her own tightened hands softened.

"I could've helped them, and I didn't. I couldn't."

She didn't even reply, didn't tell me that it wasn't my fault, like everybody said when they heard the story of my parent's death. At first I thought she didn't care, or that she agreed it was all my fault. But actually, I then realized, during my silence, that she was not speaking because she didn't want to interrupt me, out of her own interest. Rachel, the uninterested woman, was engrossed in my story and wanted to hear more of it. That was a surprise to me. I continued with my story despite my growing feelings.

"So I inherited money, but not much, we weren't the wealthiest of families. I was adopted several times, but I'd rather not talk about it, much like you. But my current family are wealthy, pretty wealthy. I like them, but my dad can be a real jerk at times. They're still good people though."

" … you blame yourself for your parents," she said without question.

"Yes. I could've done something, but I didn't."

"Okay then."

I looked up at her, surprised and in question. Most people told me not to think that way. And now this woman was okay with my blame. I didn't know what to do.

"You're not gonna tell me it's wrong to think that way?"

"No, many people blame themselves for the death of their loved ones. It's only themselves that can change their mind, not the words of others."

I stared down at my empty cup. "You're the first to say that to me. I've been getting tired of people telling me what to feel."

"Many people feel that way, yet they tell others what to feel. Ironic, isn't it?"

I smiled crookedly. "We live in a messed up world."

"I can confirm that."

I chuckled and that tiny smile reappeared on her lips. It was that kind of smile no one could get out of a person unless they pushed the right buttons, said the right things, and did the right moves. It was like _Battle Ship_, say the right coordinates and you got yourself right on target.

"See? We're getting along. And you thought it wouldn't work out." The smile was on my face again, brand new and real.

"I suppose. I guess you're not as bad as I thought you were. Still annoying and persistent, but tolerable to an extent."

"Good," I said. "I want ya to feel comfortable with me."

"I never said I feel comfortable with you, I said I can tolerate you. There's a difference."

"Ah!" I waved my hand at her. "I know you're comfortable with me." I looked at my watch and noted the time. "Well, I think we'd better go. Don't wanna be late."

Rachel nodded and we stood, packed up, and headed back to our workplaces, going back to our work personalities.

**—••••••—**

_**–FBS: Six–**_**  
**

_**8/21/03 Thursday**_

Later that day, after the tedious hours of work, I saw Rachel again. She was walking out the doors of the bookstore, hands buried in her jacket and eyes aimed at the sidewalk. She looked like she was mulling things over, as corny as it sounded. And the only reason for her to be in thick thoughts was our conversation earlier. She must've been thinking about what her father did to her, the things she won't let me know. That excited me even more. A hallowed secret like hers to be kept from me, only made me want to know more about it, like everyone else would.

I locked the doors to the building in a hurry, glancing back to make sure she was still walking. She might have been going in the opposite direction of my apartment, but I still ran to her. I didn't bother following her quietly like a stalker with horrible intentions, instead I called out to her and ran. She turned to me and hunched her shoulders, exasperated at my presence. I shrugged it off and shared the sidewalk with her, my hands in my pant pockets.

"Can I help you?" She asked in her own weird voice.

I shook my head. "No. I just wanted to walk with ya, if I can."

"I can get home myself."

"Actually," I said. "I was hoping we could spend a couple moments together after work. As friends … acquaintances?"

"Uh, I don't know. It's pretty late."

"Aw, but who goes to sleep at eight? Come on, it'll be fun. It has been."

"I go to sleep early, I wake up early."

"What is early to you? 'Cause mine is ten."

"I sleep at ten on a regular night, no later."

"Ah, my latest is one in the morning, on ordinary days."

"Lovely, now we can be curfew buddies," she said sarcastically.

I chuckled. "Yeah, but about these last two hours before your curfew …"

She sighed deeply and I could see her tired frustration with me. "_What_?"

"How about you come to my–"

"No."

I was surprised by her abrupt answer and pushed my hands deeper into my pockets.

"Okay, houses are out of the question. How about a club?"

"No."

"A café?"

"Not in the mood."

"A lounge bar? That can be fun for me and you."

She squinted, thinking it over. "Sure. Where is it by?"

"Uh," I scratched my head. "Maybe … the one by that barber shop? That looks like a lounge. Ever seen it?"

"No. I don't have time to explore this place. Never did."

"That's terrible. Why?"

"Not in the mood to talk about it."

"Okay. You said you were eighteen right?" I asked, pointing a finger at her.

"Correct."

"Hmm … we need some fake IDs."

"Excuse me? I am not going to drink any alcohol."

"Aw, come on! Let's have some fun!"

"No. Definitely not."

"Fine, but I will. It'll be fun for _me_."

I then remembered something and smiled widely. "Wait! I _do_ have one." I skimmed through my wallet and pulled out the fraud ID. "See?"

Rachel glanced at it. "I can tell it's fake. The bartender surely will too."

"What? No, they don't usually hire smart people to work the bars. I would know. My friend's of legal age but he still uses his old fake ID. I don't know why. The bartender never noticed for years and still doesn't."

"Okay," she said mildly, a warning.

We finally made it to where I intended to go and stared up at the neon sign, broken and humming lowly. The exterior was mostly brown and black in shades of a dark gray, with bricks being the walls and some extras laying on the ground. It was a small building, but couldn't be any bigger than the comic book store. It was a pretty solid place. Rachel looked indifferently at it all, as if she had seen this place all her life.

I entered the building after her, her going in without hesitation. Weird. I would've thought she'd be cautious of everything. Oh well, she wasn't really frightened of anything.

As soon as the doors closed behind me, I was hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and strong liquor. It was mighty dim inside and there were small spotlights at the edges of the ceiling all around in a square, the only light sources. There were booths, tables and chairs, and stools and tables. It looked just like a dark café of some sort, I think. I've never been in one. But this place seemed promising.

I tapped Rachel's shoulder and I pointed towards a table. She shook her head and gestured to a booth next to the small bar ahead. I pursed my lips and nodded, walking towards it with her, but before we sat down, she went to the bar. I stretched to see what she was doing and was stunned to see her conversing with the bartender, almost casually. Then I wondered if she was giving me away or something, telling him that I was under twenty-one and that I had a fake ID.

The bartender nodded to her and continued to wipe the tables. Rachel soon came back and I studied the man at the bar. He was a bald man with stress lines on his forehead and a strong upper chest. I can't say anything about his full body, it was hidden behind the long bar counter. I turned back to Rachel and she was watching me, eyebrow raised. I smiled shyly and crossed my arms.

"Like the bartender?" She asked.

"No," I muttered. "I was just getting a good look." I looked down at the sticky table. "Did you … tell him my age?"

"No, why would I?"

"I was just asking. There was no other reason you'd go up and talk to him."

"Well there is."

I looked up and chuckled. "I guess you have more friends than people give you credit for."

"No one knows me."

"I guess so." I then grabbed my "ID" and stood up. "Well, I'm gonna get me a drink. Ya sure ya don't want one?"

"I'm sure."

I walked up to the counter and felt a sweat slide down my spine. I was nervous? I was just getting a drink. With a fake ID.

The bald man smiled slyly at me and put down the glass he was shining. I tried to smile back but it felt crooked, like I bet it looked as well.

"What would ya like, charmer?" He asked, voice old and heavy.

"Uh, water?" I squeaked.

He raised a brow and I cleared my throat. "I mean, a _Heineken_."

"Can I see some ID?" He picked up the glass and continued wiping it.

I fumbled with the plastic and pulled it up, showing it to him. He looked over it to me with a wider sly grin and then gazed behind me. I followed his stare and noticed Rachel looking back at the man with a pleading look. I turned back around, confused at that and put the ID in my pocket.

"Okay, charmer, I'll give ya the _Heineken_, even though you're underage. But since ya brought an important little lady, I'll give ya two passes. The second one's that the drink's on the house."

I was surprised by this.

"You know Rachel?" I asked.

He looked down. "Is that what she's calling herself these days?" He mumbled, then stared at me. "You treat her well, charmer. She a special one, ya hear?"

I nodded in frenzy and grabbed the drink he handed me. Before I left, he called me back, thrust a glass of water in my other hand and pointed to Rachel. I nodded again and hurried to the booth. I smiled shyly and slid the cup to her. She glanced at the bartender and nodded in thanks. Weird.

"That guy's weird. He talks like he knows you," I said.

"Weird," she agreed as she sipped the water.

A scrunched look appeared on her face, as if disgusted by the water's taste.

"Anything wrong with the water? I can take it back. It could be spiked, and I know you _hate _anything alcohol."

"No," she said. "It's nothing. I– … I smell your beer."

"Okay then, good."

I took the first sip of my beer and smiled brightly, diving in for a second swallow. The next fifteen or so minutes passed by quickly, and Rachel was getting more and more weird. While I felt a buzz in my head, I noticed a smile that appeared on her lips more and more. Then I saw that her cup was empty, probably inside her already. Suddenly, that smile left her face and she looked down, almost in sadness. I asked what was wrong and she shook her head, leaving me scoffing. Even when she was drunk she was stubborn as can be. I asked her again.

"This place just gives me nost–nostalgia. 'Ery bad nostalgia." She yawned. "What time 's it?"

I looked at my watch. "Eight-thirty. What do you mean bad nostalgia?"

Her head jerked forward, her hair hiding her face, except for that smile. "I used ta com' hea between the ages of sixteen and now. I'm pr'ctically best friends with the bartender."

I paled as I realized she was giving out information. Her information that she strictly refuses to give out. Crap. She's gonna kill me when she finds out after.

"Rachel–"

"Rachel? Who's that?" She asked in ridicule.

What was she saying? "You're Rachel."

"No. My name is Raven. He knows that," she pointed at the bartender.

"What? But you said–"

"I ch'nged my name, Garfield!" She said.

"To 'Rachel'? Why?" I asked, forgetting that I shouldn't have been asking her this.

"So that son-of-a-bitch won't find me! I don't want my father to find me and get at it again! I came here daily to get away fr'm him, but that was before I was eighteen. Now I'm eighteen, so I changed m' name. S'mple as that."

"Whoa," I sighed as I leaned back. "So you _have_ been drinking? Since you were sixteen? To get away from your abusive dad?!" She nodded drunkenly. "Damn! You're more hardcore than I thought."

"Yup! Now ya know. Don't get Marcos in trouble for giving drinks to minors. He's like family to me."

"Yeah. No problem. He gave me a drink! He's okay with me."

Marcos seemed to have heard _Raven's _drunken exclamations because he appeared at our booth and smiled shyly at me.

"Heh, sorry, charmer. I forgot to take out the _special ingredient _tonight. I don't think she'll appreciate talking to you in a bar, drunk like hell. I'll take her home after my shift ends. Ya can go home now." I looked at him weirdly. "Don't worry, she's in good hands."

I nodded, remembering that Raven said he was like family. So I stood, put my hands in my pant pockets and headed out, looking back at Raven before leaving. She waved at me and then stared up at Marcos like a little girl would at a father. A real father.

**—••••••—**

**Good day, readers. I got this up in fair time, I think. I hope it's going smoothly. I'm really liking where this story is going, even though it only has two chapters. Well, that'll be all.**


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